


All These Little Things

by CandyMonroe



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Yellow Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyMonroe/pseuds/CandyMonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memories are plaguing Steve's mind, taking him back to a time where he was happy, where he had his best friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em> “Steve, c’mon, let me in!” Bucky is knocking at the door, banging at the wood incessantly. “You know I’ll find a way in.” Steve doesn’t stand, just curls himself into the edge of the couch as he listens to the sound of Bucky’s footsteps moving away from the door. A moment later there’s a key in the lock and the door swings open to Bucky’s grinning face. “You need to hide this key somewhere better, kid.” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walks into the kitchen, knocking on the light and going for food, moving the house key off the counter with a frown, forgetting that he must have put it there.</p>
<p>He has to calm down, and just breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> If you squint, you can read this as Stucky. If it's not your sort of thing, then you can read it as a friendship. Rated as "M" just for blood.

Steve is traipsing through the dimply lit hallway wearily. He glances to the flickering light and sighs; it’s been three weeks, if the owner doesn’t find a way of fixing it, he’s replacing it himself. A million light bulb jokes spring to the front of his mind and he rubs at his eyes, slipping his key into the lock of his apartment door. As soon as it’s shut behind him, key on the hook, he leans back against the wood, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

 

The day had been rough. He had left his apartment late morning, with the sole intention of checking out the local art gallery. A flyer had been dropped into his post box a few days prior, detailing an event of the youth talent being exhibited alongside famous artists. All information on the work was pulled down, leaving enjoyment in the piece as opposed to the name and Steve was ecstatic to witness the change in the general public as they get lost in the paint swirls.

 

By the end of the day, he was knee deep in debris, pulling small children from a collapsing building. He mentally berated himself for caring that he was destroying his favourite shirt, but nothing could quench the selfishness that consumed his mind. It had been happening more and more, since he had fallen from the helicarrier; almost like he was on autopilot, he was taking up the missions and fighting alongside his team without being there. His body was moving of its own accord and internally wishing he was home again – what was he even fighting for anymore? He couldn’t help his own friend, how can he benefit those that he has never met?

 

He runs his hand down his face, pulling himself upright and making his way through the dark apartment to the bathroom. He flips on the light, blinking at the sudden brightness and undoes his shirt carefully. He removes it, looking at the rips and damage with a disgruntled frown adorning his face. Years ago, when he was fighting with the military, he would have taken a needle and thread to it, but with the superhero’s disposable income he could replace the shirt easily. He throws it towards the trash can in the corner, shaking his head and stripping off completely before slipping into the shower.

 

The warm water splashing down on him lets him relax, his mind beginning to wander and as his fingers brush over bruises on his torso, a familiar face drifts to his mind.

 

_“Steve, c’mon, let me in!” Bucky is knocking at the door, banging at the wood incessantly. “You know I’ll find a way in.” Steve doesn’t stand, just curls himself into the edge of the couch as he listens to the sound of Bucky’s footsteps moving away from the door. A moment later there’s a key in the lock and the door swings open to Bucky’s grinning face. “You need to hide this key somewhere better, kid.”_

_He walks over, lifting Steve’s head lightly and dropping onto the seat, letting Steve rest his head on his lap again. “What happened this time?” Even in his good mood, Bucky doesn’t fail to miss the bruises on Steve, as he starts to card his fingers through his friend’s hair._

_“They were showing no respect, Bucky! Shouting and yelling when they should have been listening. I just couldn’t let it lie.” Bucky’s hands are tilting his face gently, getting a look at the marks, and letting it rest when he sees no major damage._

_“Sometimes you have to stand down, soldier.” The phrase makes Steve’s lips quirk upwards for a moment. “When they’re bigger than you, or more than you, you need to just let it lie. I’m not always going to be here to help you.”_

Steve can still feel the fingers tangling comfortingly in his hair, but he sighs sadly as he comes back to the present. He’s losing hope of ever seeing Bucky again, ever getting to know his friend in this new era. There was a time – a couple of years ago – where Bucky was there, in front of him in a mask, gun in hand and an arm replaced by cybernetics; Steve’s thought he had him again. The shock of emotions that ran through him was overwhelming, damaging every reaction in the fight the followed. After that, he tried to force his way into his friend’s memories, only hitting obstacles and being forced out again. Once he fell from the helicarrier, that was it. He never saw him again.

 

He had hoped against all odds, that with the broken HYDRA, and the lack of SHIELD chasing him, that maybe Bucky would break free, something to trigger memories and he would turn up at Steve’s door with that daring grin again – but it never happened. Now he’s given up. He is waiting for nothing anymore.

 

He drags the soap over his body, washing himself down before getting out. He’s lost in his thoughts until a sound echoes through his apartment startling him. He’s immediately on high alert, the towel being gripped at his waist. He stays still, listening for another sound, but there are none. After a moment he edges his way out of the bathroom, feet silent on the soft carpet of the living area. His eyes are searching out anything unusual in his apartment, and eventually lets himself relax, happy that he’s alone. He walks into the kitchen, knocking on the light and going for food, moving the house key off the counter with a frown, forgetting that he must have put it there.

 

He has to calm down, and just breathe.

 

\-----------------

 

A couple of months later and he’s in the grocery store. He has a cap on, but disregarded the sunglasses. He reaches a tin from a shelf as he passes a struggling old lady, shooting her a smile before moving on. He’s leaning against the freezer, checking out two different boxes and deciding which he wants, his ears pricking at a voice from his past.

 

_“It’s just milk, Steve. Get that one, that’s the better brand.” Bucky’s eyes are bright, laughing at Steve, making him scowl._

_“This one is cheaper. I have to choose between affordable watered down milk, or expensive real milk. It’s not as easy as you think!”_

_“Steve, we’re both human. Sometimes I have to come to the shop and buy milk too. I just don’t stand around for hours trying to pick a bottle.” The grin is stretching, teasing Steve. “Okay, look. I’ll buy this one for you, okay?” Before Steve can answer, Bucky has taken the bottle and is walking to the counter. He’s paying before Steve has managed to gather his stuff and walk over._

_“Buck, no! You can’t do that.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because it’s not fair!”_

_“Fine, you can buy your cheap milk, and we’ll trade. I get the cheap milk.” Bucky is still grinning and starts putting Steve’s groceries onto the counter._

As he stares down at the boxes in front of him, he tries to remember if they ever traded that milk and a small smile reaches his lips. He puts down one box, throwing the strawberry pop tarts in his basket and going up to pay.

 

He takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, nearly reaching the top and knocking into a guy coming the other way. He lets out a sincere apology, complete with, “Are you okay, sir?” receiving a nod and the guy readjusting his cap before he carries on. Once in the apartment, he deposits the bags on the counter, picking up the half glass of milk left on the side and cleaning it before putting the shopping away.

 

\-------------------

 

It’s getting to the point where he doesn’t want to get out of bed in a morning. He wakes up with a start and sits up, trying to establish what jerked him from his dreams. He lies back down slowly and rolls over, staring blankly at the wall opposite and trying to ignore the painful thoughts in his mind. The memories plague his dreams and it’s making him get more and more nostalgic; reality and reminiscences starting to blur together.

 

Natasha has visited him a few times, and each time she comes in quietly, tidies up around him and then sits. She doesn’t speak, but suddenly he’ll talk and let it all out.

 

He had always looked up to Bucky. The man was his only friend in a world of hate and crime, someone who was there to protect him and help him. There were always these promises that they would be there for each other and protect each other, but Steve managed to lose Bucky three times now. Three times that he hasn’t been able to save his friend. Three times his heart has been crushed; hearing the name being declared as dead, being unable to pull him back up in time, and now he can’t even save Bucky from the confines of his own mind. He isn’t a friend. He hasn’t been able to repay Bucky in any way. He has just been take-take-take his entire life, and now he can’t even give something back.

 

_He’s woken up to the feel of someone sitting on his bed. There’s a hand at his shoulder and he opens his eyes sharply. Starting to get more alert now, he’s acutely aware that he’s breathing heavily and there are tear marks staining his face, his sheets tangled around him. ”Buck?” He realises he’s sweating and lifts the sheet to wipe at his forehead._

_“Yeah, shh, it’s only me. You were having a bad dream again.” Bucky’s voice is soothing, a familiar sound calming his breathing and he slowly draws himself back to the real world.” You were talking about your parents a bit.” The hand on his shoulder starts to rub circles in it until Steve is perfectly calm, sat upright in bed._

_“What are you doing here this early?” A glance at his clock tells him it’s 6.40._

_Bucky just smiles at him. “After you got yourself beat up again last night, I crashed on your couch. C’mon, get up. I’ve cooked some eggs for breakfast.” And that makes Steve grin, because no one cooks eggs as well as his best friend does._

Maybe he should have eggs for breakfast today, an omelette perhaps. It takes all his resolve to pull himself from the bed, stretching and looking himself over in the mirror. The quick look is all it takes for him to groan. Hair is sticking up greasy in all directions, stubble adorns his face and it’s at the funny stage where there’s not enough for a beard, and there is too much for 5 o’clock shadow. His white tee has stains on it and his face is almost sickly looking. He has to stop this.

 

He gets showered quickly, taking a pair of scissors to his hair when he steps out, towelling it dry before getting into clean clothes. Stopping by the couch on the way to the kitchen, he straightens the cushions that seem to have been piled at one end at one point, evening out the creases in the covering, and he thinks to himself, ‘I should get over this.’

 

\------------------ 

 

“On your left.” Crackles down the comm and Sam gets hit with a vague nostalgia that makes him grin.

 

“Got it, Captain.” He’s swooping down and across, narrowly avoiding the blast that emanates from the building on his left. He barrel rolls in the air, enjoying the rush of wind across his face before he dives again, catching a robot in mid-flight. A quick twist of his hand in the crude wiring at the back disables it, and he’s laughing a little as he throws it up, Tony catching it from him and he’s gone in a whirlwind of blue and red. He glances down, keeping an eye on Steve’s position before shooting into the air again.

 

Steve is propped against a building, watching the fight above him and trying to keep the weight off his now mangled leg. The explosion from the bot had sent him careering into a wall, the wall itself crumbling around him and trapping him. It had taken the help of Thor, but he’d freed himself, only to gaze down in petrification at the steel spike protruding through his leg. The cold steel contrasted sharply with the red blood dripping down from the wound and he lay for a few moments, face contorted in pain before he was pulled free, the spike moving with him.

 

Now he is operating from his place on the ground, being the eyes and ears of the team. They are nearing the end, metal casing and circuits dropping around him like rain and he twists from his position at the sound of a metallic roar behind him. He barely has time to register the collapsing robot behind him, larger than the rest even as it cracks open, sheets of metal dropping to the ground, before a crack to the side of his head sends him down onto his back the world going black.

 

_“Bucky, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your gifts, it’s that I have no idea why you’re holding yellow carnations.” Steve is wrapped in a towel, having frozen on the way between the bathroom and his bedroom when he saw Bucky waiting for him._

As he comes round a little, he can hear Tony talking in amusement, but the hint of concern and weariness in his voice is obvious to Steve. “I’ve never seen anyone have an ear sewn on before. I thought they just binned it,” and he’s out like a light again.

 

_“I told you, it’s because this place is looking dreary, kiddo. You need something to liven it up a little. Yellow is supposed to be some sort of happy colour.” He’s rooting through a cupboard, searching for some sort of vase as Steve shakes his head in bewilderment and goes to get dressed. “Have you got a vase?” Receiving a negative response, he starts searching the room for something appropriate before settling on a pot with sketch pencils in._

His hand is between someone else’s, his fingers twitching slightly in the grasp. The top of his hand catch against metal that is moved away quickly, leaving him to hold onto the warm fingers beneath his own.

 

_“Why are my pencils on the floor?” Steve actually sounds a little alarmed which makes Bucky wince before holding out the makeshift vase. “I don’t even like yellow…” He’s tidying up the pencils that are on the floor and Bucky starts to deflate a little, putting the flowers in the corner of the counter before going to sit on the couch. There’s the sound of Steve tidying behind him before the flowers are placed in the centre of the table before him. He glances at the smaller boy just to see the small smile and hear the quiet, “thank you.”_

When he opens his eyes, he feels nauseas at the bright lights surrounding him. He tries to make a sound, but finds his airways full of some sort of tube. There’s the sound of a beeping and nurses coming to join him in the room and then everything feels messy as tubes are taken out, things are moved, tests are done.

 

It takes a long time before the door is opened by a haggard Bruce. The rest of the team follow in, Bruce keeping himself quiet at the back as the team surround him; their voices are filled with relief as they talk over one another. He just leans back against the pillows and listens, grateful to be awake once more. His eyes meet Bruce’s, who smiles guiltily before walking over.

 

“Sorry.” He sits in the chair beside the bed, one hand resting on the covers of the bed. “It was my fault. The Other Guys fault.” He corrects himself. “He dropped the bot without checking the surroundings.” He waits for a moment, staring blankly at the covers. “We’re both glad you’re alive. The piece almost split you in half.”

 

“It’s okay Dr Banner. I don’t blame you.” His voice sounds strained and alien to himself and he frowns, deciding to not say anymore. Bruce recognises it, just smiling softly and letting it lie. The rest of the team fall quiet, settling in against the room and Steve looks around happily. His eyes hesitate, drifting over the yellow carnations in the corner that Tony is tending to. “Hey, flowers...”

 

“Yeah, hideous colour, aren’t they? Probably from a fan. I’ll bring you a real vase next time.”

 

“No. They…yellow’s okay. Leave them as they are.” And Steve can’t help but feel something warm wash over him.

 

\---------------- 

 

Steve is looking through his apartment, searching for the photos that are clipped from the newspaper. The suspicion has been taking over his mind, causing a strange sense of paranoia and happiness. Ever since he returned from the hospital, he has been scouring photographs and newspapers of the area, hunting down anything that might let him know.

 

He’s crouched by the television set when his phone rings. He slips it from his back pocket, answering cheerfully before Natasha cuts him off. “Get out now, Steve. Leave the building now and don’t collect _anything_.”

 

“Why, what’s happening?” As he speaks, he up and throwing a jacket over his shoulders as he edges towards the door.

 

“We’ve been tracing some tar-" The explosion rocks through the building like a shockwave and everything feels in slow motion as he watches the door blow in. The room itself reacts as though a whirlwind swept through, glasses shattering and wooden doors splintering against the intense force.

 

As though the world stands still, Steve feels a moment of calmness before he’s thrown backwards into the wall, flames following and filling the room with smoke. The fire dances across the furniture, consuming everything in its path as Steve tries to pull himself to his feet. The air is filled with the sound of screaming, children crying and men shouting. There’s a groan as the building around him shifts threateningly, bricks falling to the ground and the foundations creak.

 

Before he can react, the ground below him cracks, wood cracking beneath the carpet, and Steve is falling, unable to shout through the black smoke that fills his lungs. There are yellow carnations raining down through the smoke blanket around him and he splutters as he lands on the wrecked foundations below him. He can’t breathe in, he can’t shout, his vision blurred and lungs full. He’s vaguely aware of two arms strong around his body, dragging him. He’s trying to push with his feet, helping himself along, but the help is strong, pulling the super soldier through rubble and flames until they’re outside. He’s coughing, eyes burning as he tries to come back to the real world, the shadow of a face above him.

 

A familiar voice, a soothing hand rubbing circles into his shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. You’re safe, can’t let a little bang like that beat you.” His eyes focus slightly, eyes coming to meet those of James Buchanan Barnes and he coughs again, mouth stretching into a grin.

 

“Bucky.”

 

“I told you, I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.” And Steve smiles, because all he ever needed was his best friend.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very much appreciated - I love to read comments on what people think :)


End file.
